I stood before Giovanni Mancini, the Capo of the Cosa Nostra, hyper-aware of his every move. After all, I knew he was capable of many things.

The last time our people met was two years ago when we sealed our truce to focus on our common enemies. Back then, my father was still the Capo of the Camorra. Now, that title was mine, and the matter at hand was even more urgent.

"The Russians are forming alliances, marrying, and uniting their organizations. We can't just keep attacking them only for them to send more men the next week," I said calmly and directly, my fingers interlaced on the table, projecting a composure I didn't truly feel. After all, we were still enemies, even under a truce.

"I agree with you. I've heard they're making ties with the cartels and planning to join forces with the Japanese. We can't let that happen, or it'll be an even bloodier war," Mancini replied.

At least he was sensible. I knew Giovanni was ruthless, unafraid of wars or new challenges. He would do anything to put the Famiglia first, so I hoped today's matter would be resolved quickly and easily.

"That's why now is the time to extend this truce, uniting the Camorra and the Cosa Nostra, expanding our territory and firepower!" I declared, catching him off guard. His gray eyebrows shot up, showing he hadn't expected this. "A marriage. We'll unite our people with a sacred union that will bear children, the fruits that will seal the future of our empire."

"Marriage? And who would marry?" he asked, seeming genuinely intrigued. "You're the Capo and at a great age for marriage, but your brother would also be a fine match for this deal."

Nero shifted slightly behind me, likely uncomfortable with the idea of marriage since he had a genuine aversion to relationships. I shared the sentiment-any thought of being tied to one woman made me want to claw my eyes out-but these times called for drastic, even uncomfortable measures.

"I'll be the one to marry, Mancini. I'm proposing to marry your daughter!"

He narrowed his eyes, studying me while I kept my expression neutral, as if this were an everyday matter. But the truth was, I had planned everything, weighing all the pros and cons.

I couldn't deny that seeing photos of Angela Mancini helped me make that decision. The woman was a vision-delicate, beautiful, with eyes that seduced despite the innocence she exuded. I was eager to meet her, to be close to her, because everything I'd uncovered about her wasn't enough to truly know who Angela was. It was just crumbs about the Capo's daughter.

"And you expect me to hand my daughter over to you, so you can take over our entire organization as well?" he accused, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frank slide his hand inside his jacket, where I knew my second-in-command carried weapons and knives.

"Are you accusing me of trying to double-cross you, Mancini?" I asked, deepening my tone and letting him draw his own conclusions about what would happen here if he didn't choose his words carefully. After all, we were on my territory.

"Don't misunderstand me, but that's what it looks like. Angela is my firstborn, but one day everything should pass to my son, not my daughter's husband. You're influential, with a lot of power, and could sway everyone in your favor."

"I didn't call you here for that. If you don't trust your men, that's your problem, not mine. What I'm proposing is an alliance, a union to win this war and expand our territory."

Giovanni stared at me in silence, pushing my patience to the limit. I knew he didn't care about the girl. Angela was of no use to him beyond a good marriage, and I highly doubted he'd marry her to someone outside our dark world.

And that only led me to think he was scheming something else, plotting a plan in that dirty little mind of his.

"I'll discuss it with the council," he said finally, standing and extending his hand toward me. "I'll give you an answer by tomorrow."

I shook his hand and nodded in response before he left the nightclub's office. The door closed, my men returned to their posts, and I finally let out a breath, slumping carelessly into the chair.

"Do you really think he'll talk to the council?" Frank asked while my brother poured us each a shot of whiskey.

"He will, but it's definitely for another reason. I'm almost certain Giovanni will make this same proposal to another organization just out of spite," I muttered, grabbing the glass and staring at the amber liquid, so similar to Angela's eyes.

Her name evoked an angel, matching her appearance, while I was seen as a demon-the most feared and bloodthirsty man in the Camorra.

"I'll alert our informant," Frank said, leaving to ensure the new information reached us.

"You could make this proposal to other organizations too," my brother said, slumping into the chair Giovanni had just vacated. "Why not propose it to the Japanese before they ally with the Russians? Or go straight to the Bratva-a blonde wife wouldn't be so bad."

I smirked at him, taking a sip of the whiskey. Yes, I could do that, but it wasn't what I wanted. I had no interest in alliances with the Russians beyond hatred, not at the moment. Though Nero's idea wasn't bad, my focus was elsewhere.

And it didn't take two days for our suspicions to be confirmed. Our informant provided Mancini's location, confirming he had gone to meet with the 'Ndrangheta bosses.

"He'll pay dearly for this. He'll wish he had accepted my deal," I growled, watching the bastards part ways after sealing their agreement.

"You know he hates us, ever since our father killed his during the war," Nero said.

"It was war, Nero. What did you expect? People die on both sides. He shouldn't be so prideful as to be this foolish," I said through gritted teeth. "We're going to take her. We'll steal Angela Mancini from right under their noses, on her wedding day."

"Have you lost your mind, Marco?" my brother pressed. "Make the same proposal to the Bratva, marry a Russian, and make them suffer!"

"Maybe you should listen to your consigliere," Frank said from the front seat as we watched them leave. "Let them think they've won, and we'll come back even stronger."

No! I couldn't let them hand her over to that worm. The little angel would be mine. Soon, she would be Angela Falcone, carrying my name and showing everyone she belonged to me.

"If you're so sensible, marry a Russian yourself. I'd be more than proud to make that deal in your name, Nero," I said, my final word. "Prepare for the attack. We have one month to plan everything, and I don't want any mistakes."

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the dress my father had insisted on choosing for me. In all my twenty years, I had never worn anything like it. I was almost certain that my childhood clothes were more modest than this dress.

"Angela looks like a prostitute," Alessia muttered, still leaning against the wall.

My mother sighed, looking at me with disapproval, but she had contributed to this circus, overdoing my makeup in a sensual and provocative way. My eyes were painted with dark shadow, and my lips were marked with bold lipstick, drawing more attention than I ever had.

"Your sister is a Mancini; she'd never be mistaken for a prostitute," my mother said, giving me one last look.

I highly doubted that, dressed like this, I wouldn't be mistaken for a prostitute. After all, my father had made me wear this tight, low-cut dress to show Filippo what he'd gain from the marriage.

I was disgusted by it all, disgusted with myself for letting myself be handed over like this, so compliant, without fighting or resisting, just letting myself be displayed like one of the women who stripped at the nightclub I knew my father and his men frequented.

The only difference between them and me was that I was being forced to do this, would receive nothing in return, and could only do it for my husband-a man I didn't even choose.

The red dress hugged my hips and waist, ending high on my thighs, leaving my legs exposed. The top had a deep neckline that revealed much of my breasts, forcing me to go without a bra, with only the dress's built-in cups supporting them.

My hair was let down in waves, cascading to the floor. I wished I could wear something more modest.

"You look like a woman," Enrico murmured, staring at me with confusion, and that alone could make me smile in this situation.

"I am a woman, Rico. What did you think I was?"

"No, you were my friend. Now you look like a boring grown-up woman."

I laughed, smoothing the fabric again, wishing it would somehow stretch to cover my thighs, at least down to my knees, but that wasn't going to happen. Tonight was my exhibition, and if my father wanted, I'd be wearing a damn bikini.

"Trust me, boring is the last thing the men downstairs will think of our little sister," Alessia said, finally stepping closer and appearing beside me in the mirror's reflection.

"This isn't for the other men. None of them would dare look at her with ulterior motives!" my mother interjected. "This is for Filippo. Your sister is just showing that she's a woman-beautiful, sensual, and confident, proving she's perfect to be the wife of a future capo."

I was sure Filippo would like it. My cousin had texted me about my future husband's promiscuous life-a bastard who went out with more women than was respectable. The man was no good, but what could I do? Even my father acted like that, keeping a long line of mistresses despite being married for so many years and having so many children.

"Here," my mother said, handing me a pair of high-heeled sandals. Without arguing, I slipped my feet into them, with Alessia helping me tie them around my ankles.

Mom forced a fake smile and looked at me as if she approved of what stood before her, when we both knew that wasn't true.

"Mom..." I said hesitantly, but she stepped back, heading to the door and opening it.

"Let's go. It's time. We can't keep them waiting any longer," she said. I moved out of the room, followed by my siblings as she led the way. "I'll enter through the side with your siblings. You need to appear alone. Your father will formally introduce you to Filippo, and then you'll have a few minutes alone with him."

"What?" I asked, stunned, because they hadn't told me that part.

How wonderful-dressing me up like a slut and throwing me into a room alone with a man who was supposed to approve me as his new acquisition. I couldn't even imagine what he might do to me.

"Calm down. You won't be alone for long. We'll be waiting for you in the dining room," she said, placing her hands over mine in solidarity with my trembling. "He'll probably kiss you. Don't pull away, daughter. He's your fiancé from the moment your father introduces you."

"Mom, I've never kissed anyone in my life!"

"He'll like that. He'll be happier to be your first! Just please him, let him do everything, and when you feel ready, respond." I opened my mouth in shock, unable to believe this conversation was actually happening. "Remember what's at stake tonight. Don't challenge him and risk ruining the deal. Things could get very ugly."

For a moment, I wanted to grab her hand and beg her to stay with me, to not leave me alone with that man, but instead, I sighed and lifted my face, pretending to be tough.

"Good luck!" Alessia shouted as Mom dragged her down the hallway toward the living room.

I stood there in front of the door, my heart nearly leaping out of my throat, thinking of a thousand and one ways this night could go wrong, how this marriage might not happen, and especially how many different ways Filippo could kiss me and be crude.

Men's laughter echoed from behind the door-my father and my future husband, in a room full of the most powerful and dangerous men in the country, and I was supposed to walk in. A lamb alone among wolves.

Without thinking further, I grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door. Even before stepping inside, I could feel the eyes on me. Without looking at anyone in particular, I walked a few steps, my movements faltering, until my father appeared in front of me.

The conversation had died down; the laughter stopped. Everyone just stared at me. He took my hand without a word and led me further into the room. As we passed the crowd, I saw my mother talking in a corner with other mafia wives.

When my father's steps slowed, I turned my eyes forward and came face-to-face with Filippo. His piercing gaze left me frozen. He scanned every curve of my body in a lascivious way, as if undressing me, then set down his whiskey glass before approaching.

I quickly scanned the faces of the gathered men, all staring at me as if they'd never seen me before-and maybe they hadn't, not dressed like this.

"This is my Angela!" my father announced, as if everyone didn't already know, and placed a hand on my back, gently pushing me forward.

My father studied Filippo's face, looking for approval, as if expecting him to fall to his knees in admiration. But seeing the raw, filthy desire on that jerk's face made my stomach churn.

I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I had never been subjected to so much attention. The way Filippo looked at me sent shivers down my spine.

"You didn't exaggerate when you said little Angela had grown into a beautiful woman," Filippo said, licking his lips and stepping closer, taking my hand and planting a kiss on it.

I couldn't believe my father had said those things about me to him, offering me up like an expensive piece of meat he was buying.

This was about the war. He should be happy about uniting and gaining a better chance against the Bratva, but apparently, they only cared about me.

"Why don't we leave the future bride and groom alone for a few minutes?" my father announced with a smile, and my heart raced.

I looked around for any objection or comment, but everyone began leaving the room, including my father, who smiled triumphantly. Alessia and Enrico were the last to leave, pulled along by my mother, and then the door closed behind them, nearly making me jump.

"Good to finally be alone with you, little bride," Filippo said, circling me, assessing me. "I've been dreaming about this all week."

His hand slid over my backside, and I jumped, stepping away from him, shocked by his boldness, knowing everyone was in the next room. Filippo curled his lips into a sickening smile and took a step forward, closing the distance. He grabbed my waist, holding me tightly against him before lowering his face toward mine.

His lips touched mine, and the smell of alcohol invaded my nostrils, making me gag. Before I could process his body so close, his mouth, his scent, his tongue forced itself against my lips, making me even more nauseated.

"What's wrong? Open your mouth, little bride!"

"I... I've never kissed before," I mumbled, embarrassed, hoping that would make him go slower.

"That's going to be fun, but don't worry, I'll teach you everything I like in bed and train you to please me." He brought a hand to my chin, gripping it tightly before rubbing two fingers over my lips. "Open your damn mouth." He forced two fingers inside, making me part my lips, and shoved them in. "You'll be perfect for swallowing my cock."

Disgust overwhelmed me, but I remembered what my mother said-I couldn't do anything that might start another war tonight. So he leaned in again, replacing his fingers with his repulsive tongue.

I stood there, waiting for it to end, but Filippo had other ideas. His hand on my waist grabbed my backside, and I protested, trying to pull away as his fingers dug into my flesh. His other hand slid over my chest, tracing the neckline of my dress, and fear gripped me about what he might do next.

I shook myself free and pushed my hands against his chest, shoving him away until I broke free from his mouth.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, stepping back further.

Before I could get far enough, Filippo grabbed my hand and yanked me back against his chest with force.

"I'm touching what's going to be mine!" he growled, sliding his hand over my body again, seeming to enjoy my discomfort. "I want to see you try to escape me like this when we're married. You'll be mine, and I'll do whatever I want with you."

That only made me more nervous. Then he let me go, shoving me carelessly, and reached inside his suit jacket. For a ridiculous second, I thought he might pull out a gun.

But instead, he took out a small black velvet box and opened it with a bored expression while I watched his movements. He pulled out a solitaire ring with a large diamond-an engagement ring.

Filippo grabbed my hand and forced the ring onto my finger, pushing harder when it felt tight, not caring about the pressure. For a moment, I thought he might break my finger.

"Thank you," I felt obliged to say, even forcing myself to look at him, though the same couldn't be said for his eyes. They looked furious.

"Proof that you'll soon be mine. I just have to wait until the end of the month!" he said, extending his arm. I forced myself to take it and let him lead us out of there.

I should've been relieved that we'd be surrounded by other people, and he wouldn't be able to touch me inappropriately. But how long could I delay this? As the bastard himself said, I only had until the end of the month before I'd be declared his, losing any right to my own will.

My father led me down the church aisle, with hundreds of guests divided on both sides staring at me-Cosa Nostra on one side, 'Ndrangheta on the other. Their watchful gazes were fixed on me: some with pity, others with greed, and some I couldn't decipher. But they were all there, witnessing the virgin in white being handed over to her next owner by her own father.

I looked toward the end of the aisle, where Filippo stood. Tall and strong, with a sickening smile on his lips, waiting for me as if it were the happiest moment of his life.

Perhaps it was for him, but for me, it would be my end.

My father tugged at me, and my legs seemed to move at their own pace while my body trembled with nerves. Red rose petals covered my path, softening the way toward a harsh and sorrowful future.

I knew how horrible Filippo was and that he would never respect me. I would be nothing more than a piece of meat, a body for him to bury himself in, a vessel to carry his children.

My father's grip tightened around my fingers, and I knew I should lift my face and look at my future husband, but I wanted to flee from him for the last few seconds I had left.

The walk felt like an eternity, yet it ended far too quickly. I wished I would never reach the end of the aisle. My father stopped in front of the altar, lifted the corners of my veil, and handed my hand to Filippo.

"Hey, little bride," he said. I forced a smile, not because I liked when he called me that, but out of obligation.

After he cornered me in a room at our engagement party and forced his tongue into my mouth, all my disdain for him turned into a mix of disgust and dread. I knew that tonight, he would force himself on me without caring about my feelings, simply because I was his property.

"You'll see how you'll try to escape me once we're married. You'll be mine, and I'll do whatever I want with you," he had said when I tried to dodge his revolting lips.

The priest, dressed in a white robe, greeted us and the guests before beginning his opening prayer.

I tried to breathe deeply and stay steady, even though the tight corset cut off my air, making it hard to breathe. The only thing keeping me focused was his hand gripping mine, rubbing suggestively just to unsettle me.

When the priest finally reached the end of the Gospel reading, my legs were even weaker, while the man beside me kept that smile on his lips.

"Filippo and Angela, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"-NO, I wanted to scream. "Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife until death do you part?"

But before we could answer, synchronized footsteps, like combat boots hitting the church floor, echoed through the space. All the men drew their weapons, except Filippo, who kept holding my hand, seeming overly confident.

Perhaps he was right to think it wasn't an attack-after all, the guards outside the church hadn't said anything, and no sounds came from outside.

But before anyone appeared at the door, the sound of metal hitting the floor rang out in the silent church.

"Grenade!" someone shouted, and the crowd erupted, running, screaming, and bumping into each other.

Filippo looked around like a confused roach, desperate for cover, gripping my hand so tightly I thought he'd break my bones. Then something exploded around us, the sound so loud it assaulted our ears. He turned, running and shoving me. I couldn't balance in my heels and fell to the ground, my knees hitting the hard, cold stone.

The chaos around me left me disoriented. The pain in my knees made me want to cry, while my ears still rang painfully. My head spun, and all my senses were in disarray.

I brought my hands to my ears, trying to muffle the sound or at least think clearly, while people ran around me, pushing, trampling, and hurting me without care.

"Mom! Dad!" I screamed, trying to find someone.

There was no fire around, just white smoke making it impossible to locate anything. I couldn't find my parents or siblings, and even our security seemed nowhere near.

When I thought I'd be left there, forgotten, to be trampled or killed by our invaders, large, firm hands wrapped around my body, lifting me and cradling me in strong arms.

I couldn't see through the smoke and chaos, but I let myself be carried by the man who held me with skill and protectiveness, taking me out of that hellish place straight to the safety of a car.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed, and the car sped off. With luck, I might have gained a few more days without a husband. I could only hope there weren't too many injuries and that my family was safe.

I hadn't even realized I was sitting on my unknown savior's lap, but one glance to the side told me something was wrong. None of the men in the car belonged to my father-I had never seen them before.

"Who are you?" I asked, already pushing against the man holding me, wanting to free myself from his grip and get off his lap, even if there was nowhere else to sit.

My hands came back wet, and when I looked down, I saw they were red. The man holding me had his white shirt stained with blood, as did the men beside him, but none of them looked at me.

"Good morning, angel. Sorry for ruining your wedding like this, but it was the only way to make your father see reason," the deep, commanding voice of my savior sent shivers down my spine. I frowned, confused, still trying to pull away from him and keep those hands off me, but he just shook his head in refusal. "Marco Falcone."

His intense brown eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, locked onto mine, sending a wave of heat through my body. I wasn't used to being stared at so boldly-men always averted their eyes when they knew who I was.

Then his name clicked in my mind. I had heard it somewhere before...

"Falcone? The boss of the..."

"Camorra!" he finished my sentence, to my utter shock, flashing a beautiful yet terrifying smile.

But all I could think was that I was dead. This was my end, I realized, staring into those hypnotic irises and coming to terms with who was in front of me.

"The Demon of the Camorra."

The man who had pulled me out of the church, carried me in his arms, and still held me close, sitting on his lap, was him-the most feared man of all, who had built his monstrous reputation since he was a boy and took pride in it.

The boss of the Camorra and one of my father's enemies. What did he want with me? Taking me from the church after attacking us in the middle of the wedding, covered in blood, only told me his plan was terrible.

"None other than me, angel. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you, my future wife!"